Suffering is Optional
by ChangeIsJustifiable
Summary: It's not easy being a Bhaalspawn, but when there is more than that to the lonely kid of Candlekeep, what can you expect but chaos, confusion, identity crisis, and a long and heavy trail of bloodshed? Chaotic Nuetral isn't the half of her problems.
1. Tell Me No Lies

Chapter One: "Tell me no Lies"

**Warnings**: G for OM_G_, Couldn't you do better than this? D:

Also for teh crazy stalker ex-boyfriend.

**NOTES**: Haa, we've all done this before, haven't we? We know how this goes.. Here is my little adventure, which my horribly Mary Sue character. X3 Expect her not to be able to decide which guy she wants, and be a little crazy at times.

_Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. - M. Kathleen Casey_

* * *

He tasted power. That wretched sibling in the south, one of power, but young -- very young, and untrained. This sibling didn't hear the voices, but there was great potential there, great power that lay dormant. This sibling was of a different birth than most, and the voice mocking pondered if it should wake the sleepy child up. _Because your sister has power, and wouldn't that suit my needs?_

No, no, that wasn't needed. He would take care of this one -- take care of it personally, prove that she was not as good as he was. If He liked this sibling, then he had to go take care of it personally. No one would get in his way. Nobody at all.

Golden eyes gleamed dangerously -- hungrily, and he alerted the others. They didn't understand, but they didn't have to. This undeserving sibling was so powerful, and yet mangled. There were other factors working in on it -- ones that were twisting that power. He would fix it -- stop the twisting.

Stop the power.

**-- **

Saturniah, better known as Niah, huffed unhappily, stumbling under the weight of two buckets full of water, sweat rolling down her forehead and threatening to sting her eyes. Her shoulders ached under the weight of the staff resting on her shoulders, and in her lower back was a constant straining pull.

There was a loud guffaw somewhere behind her and to her right that she recognized immediately. "Etch, Niah, got yourself in trouble again?" Hull asked.

With a groan, she play-collapsed under the weight -- a move that threatened the stability and strength of her muscles and sloshed some of the water out onto the dusty ground. She ducked back under the staff and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "This girl does not understand what she has done wrong. This girl is willing to suffer the consequences if it means that she is no longer shaming the village."

"Oh, so now Candlekeep is a village?" he asked, grinning.

Saturniah offered a weak grin in response. There hadn't been many children around when she was growing up, but she got along well enough with the older residents. "It is if this bard says it is. Use your imagination, Hull! The streets are a stage!"

"And you every actor on it," he said. "It didn't much matter who they are, you'd try to play them."

"Yes, and oh, what confusion!" she lamented in her usual overly dramatic manner, shifting her knees in the dust. "No one knew what to make of it! Gorion had to sort them out once he found out what I was doing!"

"That's rather amusing, though," Hull said as he grabbed one of the buckets. It was likely to get them both in trouble if Ulraunt or the Gatekeeper found out, but Winthrop wouldn't care. "You were so busy trying to tell us what you were that everyone was trying to say you were something else."

"Oh, the trials of bardom," she moaned, snatching up the abandoned staff and bucket. "I ply my trade, and they think I want to be what I portray!" She stumbled a few steps before she juggled the items into a more reasonable arrangement, and ignored the curly hair of her ponytail, falling to stick to her sweaty and dusty skin. "Though, I have to admit, I learned a great deal about rogues and priest and magery."

"I don't know how you will ever succeed at being a bard, Niah. You have a horrible memory, you refuse to sing, granted, you are dramatic enough, but you make up words," Hull said, none of the strain of carrying the bucket of water in his voice. Maybe Saturniah was just tired that it wore on her so.

"Fickle, fickle mind, I know. But I can play decently enough with that lute, and I'd hate to focus on only one profession. There is so much to learn!" she grunted, and then had to set down the bucket for another rest. "Oh, gods, I'm so tired!"

"Niah!"

She jerked in surprise, and straightened, turning to meet the woman. "Yes, Nadine?" she asked, blinking. Nadine's husband would rather she not talk to Saturniah, but there were certain things that had to be done, and if Nadine was looking for it, this was one of them.

"Oh, that chest of ours is stuck, and I can't find the key!" the old woman huffed, setting hands to hips. "You got it unlocked last time, so could you do it again?"

Saturniah felt an amused smiled curl her lips. "I'm in high demand this morning. When it rains, the gods dump the entire ocean on me."

"When it rains, it pours, Niah," Hull corrected, that same amusement in his voice.

"Oh, yes, well ... no. You know what I meant," she said, rolling her eyes, and then turned her attention to the request at hand. "Sure thing, Nadine. Just let me get this water to the inn and I'll be right over." Saturniah stretched painfully as Nadine returned to her house, and chuckled. "Ugh, this has been a busy morning!"

"Well, you could always send Imoen to do that lock."

"What? Eeh, I could get it done faster even carrying the buckets first!"

"Ooh, so there is the bardic self-importance! You wouldn't even know how to begin unlocking stuff if Imoen hadn't come along."

Ice down the spine. A pause that managed to be awkward. Saturniah turned and gave Hull a strained smile. "Yeah. I owe her that much, don't I?"

It wasn't the mention of Imoen that had caused the moment -- Saturniah loved Imoen as the friend she never had, and loved her for her willingness to get into silly games -- it was what that sentence reminded her of. That word.

There was a pressure on Gorion and herself when they first came. Even as a child, she understood the strain and pressure, she was sensitive to Gorion. Gorion was that man with the soft-eyes who could be hurt but not _vulnerable_, and that was something she wanted to learn. Along with that learning came the understanding of his moods, and by the time they'd made it to Candlekeep, chased out of town after town, she knew him well. Then that strain came, and she wanted to take it away. She did what she could, what menial tasks she could, but that man with the hard eyes and the frown wouldn't change. 'You'll have to do better than that,' he'd snarled, and she'd blinked uncomprehending eyes.

She knew now. Had to be better. She grew up fighting for that better. Trying to be better than everyone, even using whatever skills her adversaries used to best them however she could. Imoen came home one day three years ago with Gorion, when he came back from one of his missions. So when Imoen proved useful, when Gorion smiled at her, Saturniah burned with bitter jealousy. Better.

They had since resolved their differences, and once again, Imoen slid in front of Saturniah in thieving skills, but Saturniah still thought of herself as better. _I'll have to get her to teach me so I can catch up_, she mused.

"Right, I have to get this water to Winthrop! Be a pal and help me, won't you?" Saturniah said, stooping down to grab the bucket.

"Already on my way!" Hull called back to her.

"Hey!" she whined, trotting awkwardly as she tried to deal with everything at once. "Wait for me!"

Hull's only response was to laugh uproariously and lengthen his stride.

"_Hull_! You aren't funny!"

**-- **

And there she went, with a smile on at a time like this.

The young man's fist tightened as he stared after her. How could she _smile _when he'd taken it all back? How could she _smile _when he was looking at another girl. How could she? How _could _she?

He knew her secrets, he knew _her_. He was the one she gripped late at night, eyes eerily alight as she hummed a reckless breaking tune. It was only he that saw the desperate breaking confusion in her eyes, and he wasn't hers anymore, so why was she smiling? How could she _smile_?

He was the one who reached for her. It was him, time after time after time, and she never reached back, never once. She held him after the night's deeds were done as if he were a child, humming that tune and whispering words when he was almost asleep.

_Crippled things are beautiful_, she said so often when that breaking madness hit her. Looking at him, speaking of _him_. How was he crippled? He was by no means handsome, but he wasn't crippled, but he let her call him that because it was him, it was him, not anyone else who Gorion's intelligent and special ward came to. She chose _him_, and he knew she was special some how, so if she wanted to call him cripple, he'd let her, because it was him.

Not anyone else. She chose him first, chose him above anyone.

He gave her his big sister's lute. She loved that lute.

Did she love him?

How could she _smile _when he was looking at someone else?

**--  
**

Gorion didn't always enjoy his position as Harper. He'd gotten the job when he was much younger and impressed by the supposed power that he could get while at the same time working to achieve his own goals. Now older and wiser, he saw through many of the organization's disguises, and disliked what he saw. He had power, true, but he was no less a puppet than he had been when he first started out. Worse now, actually -- he was making a puppet of others, and some of these people were ones he loved and trusted.

He made sure that Imoen knew he had the letter. He poured over it until he was sure she would choke herself in desperation if he didn't get out of there soon. He put it in the drawer, and stood up, absently making his way out.

He'd left the drawer unlocked.

She would read it, and then they would have the finial and most important test that Imoen had ever taken. All of Saturniah's life had been a giant test, one right after the other, but this would be Imoen's first. All at once, Gorion hoped she passed and that she failed.

If she passed, she would live, true, but what kind of life would it be, truly? Danger and death all about, and powers would come after her like they came after her sister. If she failed, she would be safe for a time, but then she would fall before greater powers, the seething rage from the north. He wished that she would pass and fail all at once.

Two children, born of the same father, each in their own way precious, each in their own way innocent. Surely, Saturniah had lived far away with priestess for a while before he got her, no doubt exposed to all sorts of depravity, but there was still that ringing question in her eyes -- _why? _And Imoen, who didn't even have to ask that question yet. When she did, Gorion hoped she could deal with the lack of answer and reason.

_(And what of that first child? The one that had fallen sick and had the powers ravage his body while Saturniah watched on with young eyes that somehow **understood**, and Imoen stared sadly but without comprehension? He had fallen in the early years, like they all planned, torn apart by his sire's essence, but Saturniah and Imoen had stood firm. Pass or fail? Pass or fail?)_

Bad enough that he would sacrifice one child to his fellow Harpers, he did not wish to sacrifice both.It was more than his old heart could bare.

**,;;, To be Continued ,;;,**

_Please leave a snide remark after the rant!_

OMGYAY! X3 anyways...

Sio is not a happy story all the time. Some of it will be playful. Not always. ;; Yeah. Oo


	2. Introspection

Chapter Two: "Introspection"

**Warnings**: PG for 'Come on! Write, you lazy fool!'

**NOTES**: Yeah ... this was one of the parts that ended up getting cut-n-pasted and spliced everywhere. It's where the old and the new version didn't quiet mesh. Sorry about that. ;

Are you really sure that a floor can't also be a ceiling? -MC escher

* * *

It is said that a creature of great unrest sows unrest. Never was this better shown than in the Bhaalspawn. Even those who did not suspect their true nature could be unsettled by them, could be intimidated by them.

She was a particularly unimpressive example of her type. Elfish in features, a small if graceful body, though not quiet right for the elven kind; curly hair of an unremarkable red-brown color, skin the color of old sun-bleached parchment, and eyes a bland non-color of neither grey nor blue, but a inclination for any clothing of violent rich reds and a cut of cloth completely unsuitable for any sort of use. None but a few knew that there were charms and amulets about her that hid some of her more outstanding features -- things that would have her hunted and killed.

Gorion, Imoen, and Tethtroil were the only ones that Saturniah found close to her heart. Everyone else could have fallen to a bandits blade and the elf would have felt nothing but relief-- no more waiting eyes, watching eyes, disapproving eyes ... _no more no more no more._

So she felt overwhelmed and desperate most of the time. If she wasn't careful, she could feel that desperate breaking deep within her soul -- but she tried not to. Tried to ignore it, to fix it; it was only the mending done with gauze though -- it did nothing at all but hide it and keep it from getting worse. There it festered, deep within, and a foreign knowledge, another presence that waited -- _waited _...

It would not have much longer to wait.

**--**

Saturniah clung desperately to the ceiling, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Her fingers and knees burned with strain, and why wouldn't those damned priest go away?

So maybe she was doing something wrong. She'd gotten bored since being relieved of duty, and Imoen would be bogged down with chores to be done before Winthrop would take back over. Saturniah had decided to do one of the things she often did -- wander around the keep and steal everything that an adventurer would have. She felt it helped with her plays if she had a greater understanding of potions and magical scrolls, and she replaced them afterwards. Besides, being a bard from Candlekeep, her only chance at livelihood would be to put on convincing plays, and play the right music, and learn the right tales. She was a good storyteller when she was in the mood, and storytelling was not unlike putting on a play.

Lucky chance -- they were both absent of the room.

She quickly dropped down, landing softly on her shoes -- not good for traveling, but she had little to worry about -- and wobbled unsteadily. She scurried out the door, for once thankful of her nature which allowed her such stealthy movements and a small frame to keep from being noticeable anyway.

The narrow escape did have her pausing, however, and not just from the soreness of her arms and legs, already tired from the water hauling and now from holding her weight. It was a simple past-time, and she knew from past experiences that even though she returned the objects, she would be left scrubbing the temple for a fortnight if caught. Gorion himself was not alarmed by her actions, but he did not encourage them by letting her off easy when she got caught, and every time --

Every time -- Better. That word. She had to get better so she wouldn't get caught.

She sighed. Her game was ruined -- it was not fun any longer, not after she had been in such a serious situation. The answer, though, was easy. Imoen was available for torment, even though it meant going back to Winthrop's inn.

"Saturniah!"

Or not.

She turned, blinking out of habit, pushing a lock of hair from her face. "Yes, Gorion?" she asked. She really hoped that he hadn't and wouldn't catch her, and that he wasn't coming after her to get some chores done.

"My child," Gorion said, just a bit out of breath. "There is something very important that I must speak with you about." He must have been looking for her for a while now; she felt a bit of guilt, as the reason he had trouble finding her was that she was too busy finding trouble.

It was those words. Just words, just like Ulraunt's words. She hated the power of words over her life. Words took her and twisted her like some toy. Promises that lifted her up and sent her crashing like a wounded bird when they broke; insults and taunts that sent her fleeing in tears and leaving her alone and lonely while the adults she wished to learn from chased her away, comments that became the cornerstone of her life, like that damned word 'Better'.

These words left her alone in the wilderness, orphaned for one last time.

**--**

It was only a thought. It came a little late, because Imoen did not wish to see it at all. The words of the letter were haunting her now, and Saturniah was no where to be found. Why had she gone? Where? Letters where a dangerous thing, Imoen could see that now, especially for those who read one when they weren't supposed to. She wasn't supposed to read that letter, oh no. But she had, and it was too late. Saturniah was gone, and she could no longer go with her.

She ... couldn't?

Imoen chewed her bottom lip with a frown. She could go after her, but the elf and Gorion would have a head start. It would be hard, especially since Imoen never learned to track through forest. She had an odd talent for tracking through cities, which should not have been possible. It was more like feeling the wave of presence after they past -- each person had a path they carved, but in the forest, there were things that carved stronger paths than people and elves.

It ... it could be fun, maybe, to track down Saturniah. If she did it right, she could find them both and they could all be together again. It would be nice to be a family again.

Now decided on her course, Imoen turned her skills upon that particular part of the wall that she and Saturniah had known about and used to get inside and out of Candlekeep.

**--**

Rage was boiling deep within him. She left -- she left him. She left him and Candlekeep and she didn't say a thing, and she could have, she had so much time!

He wasn't crippled, he was never crippled, and he would prove it to her.

He'd kill her.

**,;;, To be Continued ,;;,**

_Please leave a snide remark after the rant!_

Waaah! So short. ;-; Also, it should get better after this. And crazier. And stuff.


	3. The way things Fall

Chapter Three: "The way things Fall"

**Warnings**: PG for 'Flashbacks already? WTF!1'

**NOTES**: Yayza, flashbacks to start the chapters with! Or at least the shorter ones.

A bend in the road is not the end of the road... unless you fail to make the turn. Author Unknown

* * *

_"Father! Father!"_

_Gorion turned tiredly. He was busy with Harper affairs often these days, leaving Saturniah with Tethtoril and Phlydia for weeks at a time, and every time he came home, the child who was old enough to know better still ran to him, smiling and calling him 'Father'. This time she had a tiny grey kitten in her hands. "Father, look at what Winthrop gave me! Tilda had kittens, and they're old enough and he gave me one!" Her wash-out blue eyes glimmered up at him happily, a large smile on her face. It was difficult to tell how old she was, but she'd been at Candlekeep for eight years now. The torment from the other children had not ceased, nor had the cold stares from the adults._

_Gorion smiled at her, though he was exhausted to the bones. "Oh? And what did you name her, child?"_

_"I named her O'Rhyan! It's spelt differently, of course, but its ... sorta for you, you know." she explained cautiously. Though she had never been yelled at or struck by Gorion, she still had a frightful cautious way of talking to him when she was afraid she'd overstepped her bounds._

_"Its a fine name for a very pretty little cat." he said reassuringly. He did feel warmed to know that she'd named her first pet after him. "Thank you for naming her such."_

_She beamed at him, once again brought to confidence, and tagged along after him, cuddling the mewling kitten in her arms and cooing to it._

_He'd had some weeks with her yet before he had to leave again, and he had watched O'Rhyan grow into a wide-eyed wild-cat. She was skittish and tended to charge into things before breaking off and running to hide. It was a very amusing thing to watch, and he'd never seen Saturniah so happy._

_When he came back, she threw herself at him, sobbing hysterically, a limp gray body in her arms._

_Saturniah had cooed and cried over the body all that night, and the next morning the two of them held a tiny service for the cat; Gorion said a few words requesting a power to watch kindly over O'Rhyan's spirit, and Saturniah had offered her first and last religious words, saying a prayer to Mielikki; Gorion thought it best not to mention that domesicated cats did not fall under Mielikki's care. _

_Gorion never asked, and Saturniah never told, but the half-guilty and half-gloating manner of the children said it all._

--

Saturniah squatted in the middle of the road, staring blankly at the letter she held in front of her. She'd gone back -- she had to -- and she had forced herself to dig around. On her father she found that letter. That damning letter with those damning words.

_Ward is a funny word_, she decided. _Ward could be someone you look over, or a magical barrier that saves you. No one will be hurt, but you lied, you lied_.

She idly chewed on a lock of her hair, blinking frantically to clear her eyes. Had to see the letter. _No one will be hurt? You never intended that. You slaughtered innocents to get to that ward, and you would kill her, too, wouldn't you?_

The sound of a twig breaking set her off, and she was up and casting a spell before she saw the person who broke it. The fat man jerked back in surprise and fear, and Saturniah quickly disrupted her own spell, and cursed as she felt it slip from her mind. "What is it?" she demanded, harsh-voiced in her grief and agitation -- rasping like feet dragged through leaves, that otherworldly quality that made people uneasy. She should have expected it, but when he recoiled in shock she winced. "Do not mind my voice. It is something I have lived with all my life."

"Then mind you do not become a bard, odd-voiced elf, though that advice might have come too late." He said, casting her a weary glance. The words had no bite to them, but the stung all the same: these were the words that the children sang. She reflexively reached up to grab at the instrument's strap. Hull told her that Eric didn't want to see her, but that her she could keep the lute, even though Eric asked for Hull to get it back. Hull was nice, she decided, while he watched her with sad blue eyes.

"Please ... I was attacked last night, and lost my father. If you have anything to offer, I would greatly appreciate it, no matter what it is."

His gaze softened just a bit. "Aye, I saw the mess of it. Sorry to hear that. The only thing I have to offer is advice, though."

"It would be welcome."

"Go to the Friendly Arm Inn. It is close by, and requires no gifts for entry but peace. Beyond that? Travel accompanied. It is always better to have more than one sword arm and a few wizard around to keep the monsters and bandits at bay."

Saturniah decided against telling him that she already new as much. "Thank you. I should be on my way."

"And mine as well. Some hermit I am," he muttered as he made his way away. "Talking to every stranger that should happen along the way."

Saturniah quickly set on, keeping a leery eye on the road. She had little trust of it, but no trust for the forest out beyond it. Gorion had always warned her that bards should never travel alone for obvious reasons. They could probably make it, but it was a gamble, and hard on the bard who attempted it. She had no choice, though.

It was only chance that she happened upon the two. She had been edging off the road, keeping it in sight but not actually walking it, and so were they, apparently.

The startled halfling landed his dagger in her thigh, only missing the vital part by scant inches. She howled in pain, lashing out with her own dagger and taking hold of his life force with Larloch's Minor Drain. It was enough to finish it, but by then his companion had made it to her, howling some nonsense that only further scattered her wits and led to her pouncing on him. Luck was with her, though, and he turned out only to be a mage. As she slashed at him, he managed to use Larloch's skill against her, and she momentarily weakened. It was just enough for him to throw her off, and he lashed out with his dagger, shrieking alarmingly. Saturniah cried out as it slash a long mark along the bottom of her jaw, just narrowly missing her throat. She felt a hot blast of fury, dark and overwhelming and so very comforting --

Saturniah started, crying out and recoiling. For a bewildered second, she was confused, disoriented. She'd just been fighting ... a sudden and piercing pain shot up her leg, and she cried out as it gave out. She let out a sob -- her red robes, done so to make her look like a harmless mage, an unknowing new adventurer, were dark and wet. Her boot was slippery inside, and she felt dizzy. She bit back a groan as she clutched at the wound, whimpering. She could barely remember to fetch a potion from her pouch, drinking it down. It worked something like alcohol, burning its way down her throat and filling her with a fiery warmth. It dulled the pain without slowing her mind. She fished around in her pack until she could find a bandage to wrap her leg with. She laid around as long as she dared, carefully keeping her gaze on the sky. Didn't want to see what had happened to that mage that made her clothing all bloody, didn't need to see it.

When she felt that she might be steady on her feet, she made her way onward. She had to get to the Friendly Arm Inn, and fast. She was in a horrible shape, and she had the aching feeling that it could have been avoided, but it was getting dusky, and they had met in the shadows and bandits were everywhere and there was blood all around!

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. There was nothing to do about it now.

--

**,;;, To be Continued ,;;,**


	4. In the 'Lost and Found'

Chapter Four: "In the 'Lost and Found'"

**Warnings**: PG-13 for ... stuff. Yeah. LOLZ

**NOTES**: And so we march onward into battle!

You can't run away from trouble. There ain't no place that far. -- Uncle Remus

* * *

_There is a bit of playful twisting knowledge she feels just below her ribs._

_She never really questioned how she not only disarmed that Watcher but knocked him cold and nearly slit his throat. She never questioned how she knew how to do that, even though Gorion abhorred violence and never let her learn how to fight, just encouraging her to learn magic and sing her songs. Never questioned -- never questioned. But maybe she should have._

_She thought it was normal to dream those little dreams of hunting. To dream those sneaky dreams of flash-fight and blood. She thought it was a part of her nature, because no one told her different._

_All she thought as she did a mad dash away from the fallen Watcher was '__Nature has been kinder to me'._

**--**

It was dark, and Imoen was terrified. She didn't know the woods, and she didn't feel at home in them. Twice now, she'd barely made it away from a bear. They hadn't known she was there, but she had no wish for them to find out. She had a feeling that she was far from the path that Saturniah took, and she sniffled, absolutely miserable. She'd read stories and listened to Gorion -- rogues should not travel alone. But she was, and in the forest, and it was dark. She wished she'd never left.

"Ruuuphm?"

Imoen squealed in alarm and dashed off. She had gotten a little wrapped up in her laments, and had almost ran straight into a bear. She had to get away! She wasn't going to stop running until she found Saturniah!

A flash of red, and an arm wrapped around her waist, stopping her.

"Ho, calm down. Bears will not chase you." a quiet voice said. Imoen looked up into the face on an elf.

--

Tarnesh was rather pleased with his place in life. He was in his prime, good looking and charming, doing what he loved for a living -- killing people. Yes, he'd been a little startled when he came across the parchment tacked to the door. They wanted a girl dead? For heaven's sake, how dangerous could she be?

He still wondered why he took the sign down and with him. She was not nearly as dangerous as his usual prey, but maybe he needed a vacation. Some elf, thin and blond. Went by the name 'Saturniah', and for a moment he wondered where her mother' mind had been. Who would have named their child such a strange name? It didn't fit into any race or region he was familiar with -- though perhaps that wasn't saying a lot, as he didn't know many. The Sword Coast was not that diverse. Maybe the elves had decided to try something different.

So he sat in the Friendly Arm, enjoying himself, drinking a mug of ale and charming one of the waitresses -- she was absolutely delicious in bed, and he planned to keep her around for a bit longer. But then one of the men near the door mentioned seeing a girl come in alone and ragged. Blond hair and dressed in red.

That sounded right, and he stood to join the other gawking patrons. Saw her stagger past the Inn with a broken branch in hand, pale from what must have been blood-loss.

She looked small and weak. Already roughed from a harsh encounter in the woods, it seemed. That was fine by him. He could make this a quick kill, probably before any of the guards noticed and he was kicked out. Before he could blink, he could be back at his table with his weak tankard held carefully as to not break it, with Sybilla before she knew it, and he could have her one last time before he went to collect the bounty.

Feeling rather satisfied and confident, he leaned against the wall and waited for her.

**--**

She managed to get some ways further using a fallen tree branch to brace herself. It still hurt horribly to put any weight on the leg, and she was in a hurry. She'd run into a few more people along the way, but luckily they were not of the opinion that she was a danger nor were they of the type to attack helpless travelers, rich as she looked in her clothing -- then again, it was covered in blood that was clearly not her own. She rested for a few hours outside of the city walls, downing another healing potion and eyeing the place. It was very impressive, if slightly creepy. There was something familiar about it that gave her the shivers.

Once within the walls, she retreated to the priest's hall. There she gained a worse sense of familiarity, but ignored it, requesting the help of the lady gnome there. She healed Saturniah, but they could do nothing for the scars that would be left -- the one on the inside of her thigh, placed just so that only her lover would see it, and the one tucked just beneath her jaw, following the bone from ear to ear. Luckily, it was a white scar, unlike the glossy pink one on her thigh. The priestess assured her that it would become white with age. With a bitter heart, she added these to injuries to the others -- the scars on her scalp from when the children forgot and threw a sharp rocks too hard, and to match the one on her foot when she got too close to the gatewarden when he was practicing and nearly sliced off a toe. There was a line of glossy skin on the back of her left hand from where she'd trapped it in a mouse trap and it nearly broke the delicate and young bones there.

With a morose mindset, she headed for the Inn.

"Ah, why hello friend."

Saturniah looked up, blinking quizzically. She spotted the man looking in her direction -- obviously the man who had spoken. She glanced about curiously, and was further confused when it seemed that he was talking to her. She watched him approach with a little worry, but her curiously was quickly gaining on it. She cleared her throat a bit in the hopes that it would even her voice. "Erm, do you mean me? Have we met?"

She was only partially lucky, as he winced a bit. He quickly smiled charmingly as if to cover it, but it was too late, and she was once again on the defensive. Childishly, she dared mentally to say anything about it. "No, we have not met -- yet. And I wish to be your friend, but first we have to know each other's names. I am Tarnesh."

Saturniah wrinkled her nose a bit. Now that he was close, should could smell the ale on his breath. "And you wish your friend to buy a round to show goodwill, I bet." she said. "No thanks, I've fallen pray to that to more friendly people than you."

Tarnesh seemed a bit thrown. "But -- um ... Could I ask your name anyway? You might be who I am looking for ..."

A slight trill of alarm, right in the back of Saturniah's neck shook her. It was an odd thing, for him to suddenly change what he was saying. Why didn't he just say so before? "Why didn't you say so earlier? If I were looking for someone, I would tell them as much."

"I didn't because I was concerned she would be jumpy from crossing the wilderness, Saturniah." There was a fleeting unsure echo in the back of his eyes.

Her brow wrinkled. "If you knew my name, then why did you --" she broke off with a cry of pain -- it was bright and fiery and shot right up her spine. She leapt away from Tarnesh, that thrill of fury threading through her_. It was him, he did it, he betrayed you, he hurt you, kill him_! She drew a dagger, and with steel in her hand, the fury leapt like a fire on oil, and she narrowed her eyes, handing tightening --

"Hold!"

Saturniah jumped, and was again bewildered. Where was she? What happened? With a quiet whimper, she began to back away from the approaching guards; hot liquid on her back, a sharp blinding pain beside her spine, a dizzying weakness -- _this was vulnerable_. Had to learn how to not be vulnerable when she was like this -- _like **what**_? "Wh-where am I!" she demanded shrilly, and flinched back into a wall when she saw the guards balk at the sound of her voice.

"You are in the Friendly Arm Inn, and swore not to draw weapon within its walls!" one guard shouted at her. She shivered violently with confusion, trying to remember, but at the same time, there was something that she didn't want to. _But you have to remember, you have to remember and learn -- deal with this, because Vulnerable can get you killed._

It was a long argument between her and the guards, and in the end, it was the witnesses that helped her out. They told how she had been tricked and attacked first, so she was relatively free to go with a redundant warning not to fight within the walls again. They healed her once more at the holy building, and luckily, she did not get any scars as aid was quick enough in coming. The money made off Tarnesh's corpse and a few guards that got too close allowed her a rich suit at the inn, which she took full advantage of.

The night brought memories of Gorion's death.

She and he were traveling alone, down a dark path. Then came the eyes -- the yellow eyes that glowed. A sharp shine of a sword, the hideous shadow of some huge man covered in spines, the dark spatter of blood. She had been vulnerable -- vulnerable was bad, and she had fled in terror down dark paths through the woods. She was alone, all alone again, but there was no man with soft eyes to take care of her now.

In the morning, she was feeling slightly better, and made her way down to the common room.

"Bentley, excuse me for being a pain, but is there anyone named Khalid or Jaheira here? I ... was supposed to meet them if I got into trouble ..."

The gnome regarded her for a moment as if deciding if she could be trusted, and what kind of trouble she might mean. "Ye must be the one they be looking for; they've been sleeping in shifts as to not miss ye. Yea, they are in the corner."

Saturniah was intimidated when she focused on them. One, clearly a fighter and decked down to his toes in armor, was watching her with no little interest. His dark eyes were compassionate despite his appearance, and she found herself desiring to know him. This was a man that knew the value of defending himself and others, but had no desire to inflict unnecessary harm. It was those eyes and that look that immediately endeared him to her. It was something of a relief, like a breath of fresh air, to see someone that would not judge and would not mock her voice, and chase her away and call her ghoul; those hands would ever hold stones or sticks. This was a face of someone who knew the outside feeling, and the heavy weight of expectation -- someone who would not do her the way others had done them.

The woman, on the other hand ... her eyes were judging, and deeply so. Her face was stony, unforgiving, her thick mane of golden brown hair offsetting her brilliant green eyes remarkably. In her, Saturniah recognized Ulraunt, the overseer of Candlekeep. He had watched her long, and done nothing when the other children chased her and threw rocks. He was not nice to her, expecting things of her that she lacked the skill to fulfill, and it strained her horribly. The woman had yet to catch sight -- or at least, pay attention to -- Saturniah. For a while longer, she eyed this woman; surely there was something she could learn from the half-elf. There had to be something that she could emulate, some skill or some personality quirk that could help her. Perhaps she could learn how to put up that stony facade, even when she was going to pieces inside.

Saturniah swallowed thickly, and chose to angle her approach to who must be Khalid first. "Um, excuse me ..."

"Y-You must be S-Saturniah." he said. At once, she realize what a large amount of his experience in derision must have been.

She made a small bow, bending slightly at the bottom of her ribcage, and winced slightly as it pulled on the area where her stab wound had been. "That I am -- please, a little more emphasis on that last bit, thank you. You must be Khalid and Jaheira? I was told to meet you here should I have the need."

"Yes, Gorion's ward." Jaheira said, giving her a brief once-over. "You resemble him in manner, though it is almost a slight."

A sickly bubble of anger, thick and hot laden with a promise of power if she would just let go. "I called him father, and he called me daughter -- do not slight his memory and my love for him by calling me 'ward'." she said quietly, the silvery threat of violence just below the surface and so obvious -- and then flinched, realizing too late that she had spoken too sharply and would most likely suffer for it. On reflection, she agreed with Jaheira -- comparing them was a slight upon Gorion.

"You -- Child!" Jaheira snarled, standing.

"Ja-Jaheira! C-c-c-c --" Khalid's face twisted with doubled frustration -- short-tempered wife, and with the alarm he felt, his stutter would only get worse. Emotions were getting too high, and it was getting too overwhelming, and now the other patrons were looking and --

When Saturniah had been a child, she had quickly learned that it was never a good thing when several people focused on her at the same time. She became very adept at running and hiding, and studied many concealing spells in order to get away from such situations that were dangerous -- there was always the difference between an appreciative audience and a hostile mod. Her instincts said that this was one such situation.

With sharp hiss of frustration, Saturniah made a quick movement of her hand and disappeared.

Or so it looked. In all actuality, she cast a minor cantrip that made people's eyes slide from her and then ducked into the shadows -- the notice-me-not trick that all rogues learned. Once there, she scurried along the wall and fled outside; she quickly located the dull grey cloak she had taken from Gorion's body and drew it about her, using it to conceal the brilliant red robe she wore.

It was a lonely miserable trek down the paths she had tread before. From what she understood of that sign on the Lion's Way, in the opposite direction of the Friendly Arm Inn lay a town called Beregost. Perhaps there she could find some sort of job or companions. She lacked direction, and it terrified her. There was no one for her to strive to be better than, there was no one to provide direction or deny it. For once in her life, she was truly alone, and it terrified her. At the earliest opportunity she would gather companions and never be alone again.

They didn't have to be her friends. They could be her enemies held close for all she cared. They could be baying for her blood and planning to assassinate her come morning -- it didn't matter. She needed someone to be around, to react to and interact with. The more she could react to them the better.

"-- So I kicked him in the head til he was dead! Hahahaha!"

Saturniah jerked to awareness, her head snapping up and her eyes wide, searching for who ever it was that had recited that particular line of song. They didn't know the tune, or perhaps that it even had a tune, but she knew that the words meant people, and probably more than one. Someone to react to and interact with at last!

She hurried forward, heedlessly crashing through brambles toward where she thought she heard it. Suddenly, a hand snapped over her wrist and dragged her down. She reacted instinctively, her free hand coming up with a fireball at the palm. Imoen threw up her hands as if they would save her from the spell, but luckily Saturniah was quick enough to disrupt her own spell casting. "Imoen?" she demanded incredulously. The girl was still decked out in pinks and purples, but her auburn hair was tied back into a ponytail, and her wide blue eyes were still sparkling with a hint of mischief laced with startled fear.

"Shhh!" Imoen hissed, and then gestured away from the direction Saturniah had been heading. Happily, Saturniah followed -- Imoen was better than any old bandits. Imoen was the best companion, first and foremost, the one that was not allowed to go away. At last, they got far enough away, and Imoen released Saturniah, turning.

"Heya." Imoen said, grinning weakly. "It's me ..."

"Imoen!" Saturniah finished excitedly. She gave her friend little warning, grabbing her close and hugging her tight. "What are you doing out here?"

"I ... read the letter Gorion had, but ... but I didn't think anything of it until you had already left. Then it was too late, and I lost your trail when it got dark. I've been looking for you, but I got a bit lucky, and found someone else." Saturniah pulled back, making a questioning noise. Imoen laughed at her. "Yer buffleheaded!" she exclaimed. "You never saw him?"

Now alert, Saturniah did see him, and she backed away quickly. He was an elf -- that hated blood that ran through her veins and gave her nothing but grief. He was rather handsome, which was to be expected somewhat with elves, and his face was sparingly tattooed with blue. Calm blue eyes watched her from under his dark green cloak. It was a look she didn't trust -- that hidden look. He made no judgments, but there was no compassion in his face. A sick worried feeling twisted in her gut, and Saturniah wished he'd go away.

Imoen did not pick up on any of this, though. "Kivan, this is Saturniah. Niah, this is Kivan!" she bubbled. "Lookit, Niah! An elf! One that grew up with other elves and everything!"

"Yeah ..." Saturniah gave Imoen a weak smile. "Hi, Kivan."

He merely nodded in return.

Imoen laughed. "Don't mind him, he doesn't say much. Hey, where have you been and what have you done to your chin?" she asked, prodding up Saturniah's chin, ducking a little to eye the scar.

"Had some excitement. Met some people, some liked me more than others. I have worse, but its healed." she muttered, though it felt weird to talk with her neck bent the way it was.

"Oh, that's too bad." Imoen tsked, releasing her. "Kivan said that we should probably head down to the Nashkel mines. Says he's got some suspicions he wants to work out."

"Um ... alright." Saturniah said reluctantly. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do, and this provided her with direction alright. Besides, she had Imoen now. Everything could go wrong, and she really wouldn't care at all.

The night came, and with it came dreams, unpleasant visions of past and future. Saturniah's nights were always unsettled, partially from learned habits, but mostly because her mind was unsettled, struggling to deal with the patterns it was forced to run, and with the things that happened to her on a daily basis. She could not tell what a true night of rest was for she had never had one, and had learned how to live with the nightmares without letting them affect her more than they absolutely had to.

This night the dreams were filled with blood.

She fled from something dark and all-knowing and inescapable. Something that loomed in the horizon behind her, and in front of her, and it wouldn't go away no matter what direction she ran into. Something had changed, something was different, they had never been this close, and not boxing in like this! The skies boomed with thunder, roiling with clouds, and with a flash of light that blinded her, it let loose -- only it wasn't water that fell from the sky, it was blood, red and hot and slick and she couldn't keep it out of her mouth and she screamed in terror as it began to fill her stomach and churn like some alive thing. Inside, inside and she couldn't get it out!

The ground dropped from under her feet, and she was falling, falling, and who knows when it would stop? Then all at once, she found the ground.

She was alone, and it was dark, and there were shadows all around. Strangely, this did not frighten her as it usually would. What frightened her was her father's mangled body.

Dead and sunken eyes stared at her, and the worst part about it was that they did not accuse.

"My child," he breathed, momentarily closing his eyes. "I thank the gods that you got away. But there is no where to go but onward, though this path may take you back where you have been. Now is the time for the test, and I am afraid that you have a few secrets you held from yourself to discover."

Saturniah shied away from him, terrified even though it was clearly Gorion, and he had no ill intentions. He smiled sadly, knowingly, and the world swirled and dropped from under her feet. Standing outside of Candlekeep, but her eyes were not on the high walls but in the shadows. There, two pairs of gleaming gold eyes, and one of green stared at her. They were not menacing, but frightening all the same.

"You can not come back this way," they spoke in unison, a horrible scratching noise. "Go forward, and discover."

Everything went black.

She jerked to awareness with s stifled gasp, hurriedly raising a hand to her mouth where she sunk her teeth into it. She shuddered violently, collapsing back onto the group, forcing herself to take deep breaths instead of gasping for breath.

"Nightmares?"

She started violently at this, crying out against her hand and jerking it away as blood leaked from it into her mouth. "Kivan?" she hissed.

"It is I."

Saturniah breathed a little easier knowing that she wasn't attacked. She eased out of the tangle of her father's grey cloak, not bothering to cover herself when the split in her robes rode higher and displayed her long legs and thigh. She had no interest in Kivan, and he none in her, and she felt safe thus. "I always have nightmares." she offered quietly as she crawled a little close to him. "It is the memories that torment me more."

"They have a tendency to do so," he agreed, turning to regard her. "Why is that you force your body to sleep the way a human would?"

"I don't know how to invoke reverie." she admitted. "And ... for other reasons. You are the first elf I have ever met."

"You must have lived a hard life." he commented.

Saturniah cut a glance at him before folding her legs and hugging them to her body. "I must have." she echoed, slightly with agreement, and mostly to reassure herself she heard them. What could her life have been like if she had grown up with her kin? Easier? Or was it just her luck and lot in life to be this way? "How much longer must Imoen sleep? I have never sleep a full night before."

"Only a few hours more. You should take the time to memorize your spells."

Saturniah sat still for a moment longer, casting sad looks up at the dawning sky, before she made her way back to her pack and took her spell book out and set it in her lap. There were a few spells in particular she wanted to learn.

**--**

Imoen strode happily in front of the two elves, nearly bubbling. Beregost was a surprising friendly town, though it made Kivan uneasy to leave the forest, and Saturniah was more than a bit uneasy to be among so many people she didn't know, but the lack of walls helped tremendously -- should she need to run, it would be a simple thing, and if there was one thing Saturniah knew how to do, it was run. In a new situation, she was quickly losing all the ground she'd gained against the children of Candlekeep, reverting to the frightened and childish girl she'd been. She didn't know these people. Waving her arms and yelling back at them might not work.

By Kivan's request, they went to the Jovial Juggler. There, a paladin accosted them, spouted some nonsense, and then floundered a bit when he found that this had sent one skittish elf off out the door and the other on edge, staring balefully but not moving, while the lone human of the triad had wandered off during it to investigate the tavern.

"Well, uh ... Keep that hoard in mind," he said to Kivan, and returned to his seat. The elf snorted silently. He knew of the hoard the lame paladin had spoken of, and also knew them harmless. He knew better than to attempt to convince the fool of it, however.

He rented out two rooms, a small bare one for himself, and a slightly better furnished one for the two girls. Imoen seemed to be having a grand time talking with the patrons and the bards in the corner, and when asked, she shrugged.

"Niah will come back when she feels it is safe -- probably once it gets dark. I could find her, sure, but she wouldn't feel safe coming back before she wants to."

Kivan left it at that and retreated upstairs to rest for a bit. When he came back down, Saturniah had returned and was getting sloshed as quick as an elf could -- which meant on the first half of her third mug of ale. She gave him a strange wild-eyed look when he reached out and took the mug from her hands.

"She is to have no more." he said in cool tones to the inn keeper. "If I find any drink on her breath again after this, know that there shall be punishment dealt out."

The man sulked, but Kivan ignored him, taking the drunken elf by her arm and leading her toward the stairs.

"But Kivan," she murmured. "I was not yet finished..."

He almost loosed his grip in surprise. He had quickly adjusted to the otherworldly voice that she seemed cursed with, but now it was mellow and far more substantial than usual -- more of a water to the previous air. He grimly bet that it was the sheer amount of stress she had to deal with that lent the breathy quality to it, choking her voice and hindering her projection. A master bard could probably teach her to relax her larynx as to let her true voice shine through, but he also doubted that she would live long enough to make any use of such an opportunity. If they lived long enough, he made a mental note to look for a bard to do such for her; as a bard herself, she would be the most effective with a voice that could be used in song and stories.

He left her to her room to sleep off the effect of too much drink, and left with Imoen. "If you please, my friend ..." he said, gesturing to the surrounding people. The girl caught his drift, and grinning, she bound off to make them some coin.

Later was a bit of a wild goose chase. They had come back at dusk to look in on Saturniah and distribute the items Kivan had bought at the local smithy only to find the elf gone. With a tinge of annoyance, he sent Imoen back out looking for her. Eventually, the girl came back and requested his help, and they searched for about half the night. She found them before they found her.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" she demanded, back in her right mind and with a her airy voice. She was weaving about, twisting her body in a way more awkward than provocative and constantly fingering her clothing. It took both Kivan and Imoen a moment to recognize what she was doing.

"She stole the Shadowtheif armor from the smithy." Kivan said to Imoen quietly; he didn't like the act, but chose to say nothing as he was fairly certain that the misdeed would serve to keep Saturniah alive longer. The black armor was hard to focus on, and it barely showed the way she had put it on, sandwiched between the bottom layer of clothing and the top.

Imoen broke into the puppy eyes. "Aw, Niah! You didn't get me a set? I'm a thief, too!"

Saturniah laughed giddily. "I couldn't! There was only the one, but I heard of a mage so I came to tell, but I couldn't find you two anywhere!"

"We were looking for you." Kivan said. The other elf nodded to herself as if she had expected this.

"Sorry about that. I had woken up and caught up to you when you got to the smithy. I grew attached to the armor faster than you can blink!" she said. "However, I think about my friends. I heard tell of a mage's place not far from here. If we can get there, we can buy or I can steal a robe and Imoen can have this amour. I love being so versatile!"

The thought of who would have had the armor if Saturniah had only been a thief was not voiced, and not brooded on for long.

"First, we should sleep." Kivan said. "It grows dark, and the High Hedge is not without its perils."

Saturniah hummed happily to herself as they made their way back to the Inn, still slinking about and adding unnecessary sway to her steps. Kivan loathed to see what she would do when she found herself an Archmagi robe.

--

**,;;, To be Continued ,;;,**

_Please leave a snide remark after the rant!_

ROFLMAO! "Ho, calm down"!11 XD Is it only me who thinks it sounds like Kivan suddenly turned into a pimp?


	5. The things we can't keep

Chapter Five: "The things we can't keep"

**Warnings**:

**NOTES**:

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. M. Kathleen Casey

* * *

"You robbed him blind." Kivan voiced neutrally.

"He was a bad man!" Imoen said childishly. "He yelled at Saturniah and sent her running!"

"She robbed him blind also." he added thoughtfully.

"He deserved it!" she said enthusiastically.

Truthfully, Kivan wasn't sure of it. If Saturniah had just the barest bit of backbone, she wouldn't have been hurt or have run. On the other hand, she had been in the process of stealing from him and had gotten distracted by the large display the mage had running. Her hand went the wrong way, and she'd sent his merchandise flying. He'd blown up at her, she'd fled like a deer with wild eyes and as pale as ice, and Imoen had similarly yelled at him. There had been a bit of argument, and Kivan had been forced to step in as mediator. Eventually, he got both thief and mage calm, and then watched in a startled manner as Imoen proceeded to rob the man of everything but the robes off his back.

"Let us just find Saturniah." he said quietly.

Imoen hummed her agreement. "She still owes me that armor!"

They weren't sure where she could have gone, so they started back on their way to Beregost. After a bit of asking around, they had an approximation of where she might be, only to find her crooning softly to a man in Feldepost's Inn. He was sobbing and had several mugs of questionable liquid around him, and some ways away, another man was standing and watching uneasily. He quickly spotted their interest.

"Your bardy friend has got some charm," he said, somewhere between wonder and suspicion. "Marl got mouthy. I didn't think it was serious, but he tried to attack her. She fled like a kicked dog outside, and he followed. I was worried, so I followed, but by that time Marl had calmed down and was all in pieces. She's got him calmer than he's been in weeks!" he marveled. Kivan's ears picked up the sound of the elf, and he wasn't as surprised -- she'd managed to get some alcohol, and her voice was a pleasant and constant murmur. She was saying nonsense words, but they worked their skill on the distraught man. The elf wasn't surprised -- bards had a way with words, unsteady voice and liquor or not.

Kivan waited to pry her away until he had done his best to buy whatever he could from the man behind the bar. "Come," he said. "We must go to Nashkel now."

With wide eyes, she agreed, and they left the town.

Saturniah was extremely pleased with the proceedings. They were all becoming weighted by all the things the two had stolen, but were better protected for it. The elf had donned the Robe of the Archmagi, and handed over the shadow armor as promised. Kivan silently likened them to peacocks, both strutting proudly and showing off their new gear. Foolish, really. All the best equipment in the world would not save one's life if skill and discretion was lacking.

It was only proven when a small group of ogres attacked.

Saturniah started like a deer, but before she could flee, she was clipped by a morningstar and sent tumbling. Imoen was gone in a flash, though Kivan spotted her lurking in the meager shadows of the forest. He quickly pulled his bow and began shooting, hoping to distract the creatures so that they would ignore Saturniah and Imoen.

He needn't have worried.

Saturniah rose from her tumble, one leg clearly injured. She gave no sign of recognition, though, and with a snarl leapt upon the closest ogre, an enchanted dagger in hand. Kivan was distracted with horror as he saw that the timid elf had suddenly changed into a rabid wounded animal, furious and senseless. She was torn and tossed around a bit, but it didn't slow her -- she still came back just as fast, just a furious, baring her teeth and snarling.

Bland grey eyes were golden.

Kivan forced himself from the trance it had put him in and quickly aided her with his bow before she could get herself killed. When the last one fell, so did Saturniah. She lay gasping, and as soon as Imoen made a sound, she was up and panicking. There was a frantic lost look in her eyes.

"Saturniah," Kivan said quietly, hoping that his lack of visible fear would sooth her. "The fight is over, and we must continue."

Shortly, she returned to herself, and allowed Imoen to force a healing potion on her. They found a letter on a nearby corpse, and Saturniah tucked it away after reading it. "Message for someone." she said shortly, and would not say further, though by her face it was not a grim letter.

They continued on their way, dodging battle with the local monsters when they could. Fate had no such easy plans for them, though.

"You! Stop!" a sneering voice erupted. Saturniah almost fled but for the sword that appeared under her chin from the darkness. "I know you are bandits, preying on the caravans!"

"But we are n--"

"Silence!" he roared.

"Two elves and a human girl -- some bandits!" Imoen mocked.

"Surely, sir," Saturniah said, beaming up at the young man disarmingly. "My friend may be a little brash and a lot reckless, but she makes a point. We aren't bandits."

The Flaming Fist soldier glared suspiciously, and pushed his sword forward a bit, but Saturniah easily leaned back with it. "Oh? You are armed rather dangerously." he growled.

Saturniah performed a twist of body that only an elf or a similarly limber and quick creature could do, which caused her lute to slide around in front of her. "I carry a musical instrument, and am a bard of sorts. What bandit has need of a bard?"

Kivan had to somewhat congratulate her on her thinking -- himself an archer, and Imoen a thief did not help their case, so she would typically be considered the lest offensive of them. However, everyone always had use for a bard, and bandits rarely killed them, usually either kidnapping them or letting them go after a show.

The soldier frowned a moment, then grinned in a particularly nasty way. "How do I know you don't just carry that thing around to make it look like you're a bard?"

Saturniah was quiet a moment, then smiled in an equally nasty way. "Why, I could give you a song, I suppose. I know a lot, but not all of them. Name one, and I'll play it."

"Alright." he said, but there was still a gleam to his eye. He pulled his sword back and gestured to her. Saturniah smiled again at him, then turned over her should to look at Imoen and Kivan. There was a wink, and she mouthed, 'Plug your ears'.

Which confused Kivan somewhat, but when Imoen giggled in a decidedly evil manner, and did so, he figured he should probably do the same, and was stuck deaf, simply watching.

Saturniah began to pluck at the strings, her hands dancing over the instrument as she tried to get it tuned. Then she nodded and gave the soldier a questioning look, to which he answered. She smiled a little sardonically, and bent her head over the lute, almost cradling it and shielding it with her body as she began to play.

There was something wrong with the soldier almost immediately. He was twitching. All Kivan could hear was a vague undercurrent of noise that set his nerves on edge and made him uneasy. Suddenly, the man began to scratch and tug at his hair. Then, to Kivan's surprise and unease, he began to strip of his armor.

In no time at all, a rather naked Flaming Fist soldier ran off down the road. Kivan wasn't sure how far he went -- he didn't really care or want to know. As soon as Saturniah stopped playing, and he uncovered his own, the sound of Imoen's ecstatic laughter filled the air.

"Oh, Niah! That was wonderful! I never thought you could get another one to strip like that Teacher did!" she cried, and then began going through the mess of armor and clothing the man left behind.

"I have heard of bards that specialize in different spellsinging." Kivan muttered, giving Saturniah a look. "I was not aware that elves carried the gift of it, however."

Saturniah, who had been in the process of looking over at him, jerked to a halt and ungracefully unwound from around her lute and tossed it carelessly around where it bounced in a clearly painful manner against her back. "I've said as much. It gives me unsettled thoughts on my true heritage. I have no one to ask, though, and allow people to guess my heritage as they will." She paused for a moment, then turned back around to face him half-way. "I ... do not think that I am an elf, after all," she said quietly. "I can't tell why I appear to be one. Perhaps there is human blood in me -- not enough to keep me from looking like an elf, but enough for this 'gift'. Perhaps ... I have no elf-blood at all."

"It is a dark matter not to know for sure one's roots." Kivan said thoughtfully. "It is no wonder you do not rest well at night."

Saturniah flinched, and it was only then that he thought that perhaps Imoen did not know about this. Much to the girl's relief, however, Imoen had picked through the amour already, and was coming back their way from scouting ahead.

"Heya, I think it's plenty clear enough from now on." she said, grinning. "Hurry, this way!" She spun about on her heel and was bounding off before either of her companions had a chance to really react.

As they hurried after Imoen, Saturniah cut one last look his way. "I will talk if you are curious, Kivan, but not around Imoen. She doesn't need to know -- she thinks I am an elf, a bard, and as happy as she. I don't want to ruin that for her."

"You may not have a choice."

She was quiet for a moment. "True enough. Something changed. There is something within me that I do not know, and it isn't quiet any longer."

Kivan involuntarily shivered at that.

--

They made it to Nashkel without much more trouble. A horde of hobgoblins here or there, or acting much like hobgoblins shouldn't be was all that stood in their way, and Saturniah was looking eagerly for rest. The patrolling man that assaulted them once they were within the town's parameters was a little off putting, and Saturniah had hidden behind her two companions in the meantime. Once they assured him that they meant no harm and he went on his way, Saturniah quickly urged them toward the inn. And then?

"It might be a touch unladylike," a cleric said as soon as Saturniah entered. "But I'm going to slit your throat, I am!"

The patrons all shrieked, eyes fixed on the situation. Saturniah panicked, leaping backwards. It was too late, though, for vines burst through the wood floor and wrapped around her, drawing her down so quickly that she hit the floor with an audible thud. She let out a whimpering noise of fear, looking up at the approaching woman. An arrow caught the woman in her shoulder, but then Kivan gave a sharp cry as he too was caught up. A burst of magic from Imoen's wand and she too was caught.

"Don't!" Saturniah cried. "What is this for?"

"It matters little." the cleric said, smiling grimly as she lifted her mace.

In the next instant, there was a flash of a staff, and the woman tumbled forward.

"Child! You are the most insufferable brat I have ever known." Jaheira said, gritting her teeth as she bent down and began to coax the vines off Saturniah.

"I didn't do it!" she cried, a touch of fright, but mostly anger coming through her words. "I didn't do it, I didn't start it! What have I done?" The last part comes out in a harsh whisper, a demand. What had she done that had her deserving of the life she current had to lead?

"I-it's okay, S-Saturniah." Khalid said, bending down next to her and laying a hand on her shoulder. "W-we understand wh-what has come to pass."

"Indeed, though it has been much trouble to learn it the way we did. Hold still, and I shall have you free -- you have nothing to fear from me as long as you do not attack myself or Khalid." Jaheira added.

Saturniah felt a larger sense of ease slip around her. Imoen had soothed much of her unrest and fear, and now with Khalid here, she felt very welcomed. "Thank you for your help, Jaheira, Khalid. I am sorry that you had to take the long way to find out what has happened, but I was a but delirious from the road and loss." She stood, and was pleased to see that Kivan had freed both himself and Imoen. "These are my companions so far -- Kivan the archer, and Imoen the thief and childhood friend. It was Kivan's idea to come to Nashkel, though I know not why. It was direction to aimless wandering."

"All the same, it is a good thing." Jaheira said, giving Kivan a measuring look. "There is an iron crisis, and we are here ourselves to look into the mines. If you are willing, it would be wise to join forces."

Saturniah unobtrusively step back. It was not her place to decide as she was no leader. Instead, she made her way to the Inn keeper and requested the two rooms they would need. She was pleased to learn on her return that the two half-elves would accompany her. They knew Gorion. They had that same reserved and kind, but distraught air about them. Perhaps they had answers that Gorion did not have the time to give.

That night she slept uneasy, and the nightmares came to tell her what she had already guessed : there was no where to go but forward. The presence awakening under her own watched, waiting. It was only a matter of time ...

**--**

Saturniah was up before the others, as she had a certain amount unrest that would never leave her and made her sleeping periods short. She was lurking along the buildings, passing the patrolling guards. At one point, she almost ran into a hulking man, but managed to avoid him. The second man she did not, though it was as much an accident as anything.

"Are yuuuuu gonna throw rocks at meeeee?" Noober wailed after her as she took off at a run, keeping a leery eye on him. It was stupid to run and not watch were she was going. She learned better in the walls of Candlekeep, but it seemed that desperation had lead to her forgetting such.

"(-- just my luck ... hey, what?) He -- Oomph!"

Saturniah cried out in shock as she ran straight into someone. They tumbled over the ground from the sheer force of her impact, and she leapt free, drawing dagger and hand on fire, wild-eyed and panicked. The man in the red robes grumbled unhappily as he rose with an air of bruised dignity and raging fury, focusing disdainful black eyes on her.

"Watch where you are going, wench." he snarled. "You would do better not to run about helter-skelter, brainless as a chicken. (Hmm, one of those all-trade elves. Squeals like a kicked dog, though ... )"

Saturniah flinched back, the spell lost and her dagger drooping in her lax grasp. She was not without her own eyes however, and she quickly saw the fretful way he was standing, hidden as best as he could with arrogance. There was also a slight quiver in his shoulders -- he was cold, and the bitter twist of his lips betrayed just how miserable he was. Though she wasn't aware of it, there was a hidden thought -- he was in red like her, he might be an outcast like her. Still on something of a rush from the presence of two people that understood her and would not mock her, and encouraged by the slight displays of how wretched he was feeling and trying to hide it, she reacted. "Better like a chicken than in a self-absorbed fog!" she blurted out, caught in a moment of bewilderment. "Chickens know to run when they see danger and you'll just stumble right into it!"

To late, she remembered her strange voice, but to her surprise he had no reaction to it. There, in his eyes, behind that preoccupied busy part, a spark lit -- one of faint recognition and interest. "You would be proud of your chickenhood, simpleton elf. I pay more attention than an idiot like you would notice!"

"Those colors look pretty stuuuupid on you."

Saturniah winced, watching Noober pick at the mage's robes. She could see herself that this was not the wisest course of actions and would likely end in the poor idiot dead. While unconcerned about the repercussions of either one of them killing the fool, she did have a weak streak for the underdog, and Noober had been telling her about how the others threw rocks at him. Her mind raced, trying to think of a way out of saving Noober. How ...? Suddenly it occurred to her -- the robes she wore were the exact same color as the mage's, as she not been allowed to keep the blue robes she came to Candlekeep in. She had to act quick.

"Yes, you silly man. Red of that color should only grace th-the most deserving -- it is too powerful for one such as yourself." she rattled off quickly, stepping toward the mage as she twisted her fingers in a spell; she stuttered slightly when his furious gaze had turned to her. At the completion of the spell, Noober fell to the ground, asleep, and the mage's eyes were on her.

"Listen, you idiotic fool!" he snarled, his hands raising to cast. "I am more powerful than you by far!"

Saturniah leapt back, ignoring the hollow thump of the lute on her ribs, squeaking and almost making ready to run; it was Noober's body that kept her feet still. "Now, now, mage." she said, holding her hands up and swallowing nervously. "Let us not get your feathers ruffled."

"Feathers?" he demanded, effectively distracted. "I am not the chicken here! Are you so low on the evolutionary ladder as to fail to remember the insults correctly? (I would not be surprised, after all. She looks to have little going on between those pointy ears.)"

"Actually I was -- eep!" she jerked back a few more steps, eyes wide as he began toward her. The sky rumbled unhappily, and she absently noted that it was about to rain, though nothing heavy. "I was ... erm, thinking more of a -- a uh ... peacock." It was a poor comparison in her eyes, as he strutted like one but his accent lent his voice an appealing pattern and sound.

The sky let loose.

Saturniah jumped a bit as she was immediately soaked, and the cold winds caught her and chilled her to the bone. The two were both momentarily distracted, both trying to stuff delicate possessions somewhere to be undamaged by the rain, and she felt free a moment to react to it. It was a soothing feeling running down her face and neck, even though it was cold. In the rain, she would go unmolested in the walls of Candlekeep, and when the pitter-patter sounded, she could always be found outside, enjoying the freedom. She gasped in the air, filling her lungs and feeling a little better, and a little less intimidated by the mage. Locks of her dark hair stuck to her face, but she ignored them, eyeing the miserable sight of the red mage. He was shivering violently and muttering venomously to himself, tugging his hood so far forward that it concealed all of his face but his mouth.

"You look perfectly miserable," she commented quietly. "Like a wet cat."

"What are you blathering about?" he huffed, his head tilting just enough to allow a flicker of black eyes under the hood. "Stupid prissy elves talking nonsense. (I never expected to run into one around here, but should have known my luck better...)"

"The inn is not far." she murmured. "I myself am holed up there, but shall soon be vacating it -- there will be rooms."

He suddenly looked at her very sharply, and she yelped, taking a few steps back. He seemed ready enough to ignore this as he had her voice, though. "I do not recognize you. You came in with some large group, did you not? (Bah, probably not. Stupid elf. She seems to lack any sense at all...)"

Saturniah momentarily thought about it, the part of her that had watched Winthrop and travelers bid for their services stirring and come to the surface. "You're not trying to hire me, are you? I work not for money, my skills assure me less need of it than most. It would have to be a suitable reward. And I do come with a group -- a archer, a druid, a fighter, and a thief. I myself am useful, despite my obvious temperament -- I know something about fighting, thieving, and mage-works, not to mention the small skill I have with spellsinging. I expect any payment to be of equal value."

The mage looked impressed despite himself. "(Undoubtedly, it was an accident that found such a group together. Never mind, they will serve.) Very well, you shall be rewarded for this mission, but only on completion. I am Edwin Odessiron, a Red Wizard of Thay."

She thought it best not to get on this man's bad side, and cowered a bit; it seemed to please him, and even though she didn't know the meaning of that last bit, she was leery of him anyway. "Saturniah, and if that's displeasing, Niah. Come, I shall show you to my companions."

She was a little mean, she'd admit later. She took the pompous mage to her companions and at once ended up terrified. After giving a bare explanation of herself and him, she fled.

Curiosity led her to the store next door. She entered it, and wandered around the place, looking at the shelves full of food and weapons while talking to the owner.

"Might I interest you in a bit of side business?"

Saturniah perked at this, turning to regard him with curious eyes. "You might."

"Well, recently the woods have been full of winter wolves. Normal wolves are no problem, but winter wolves are large creatures with powers of ice. I'll pay you five hundred coins for every pelt you bring in."

The elf paused, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. "Indeed ... " she thought about the miserable mage back at the inn. "Suppose I brought in some cloth and pelts. Do you think you could fashion a cloak of them to my specifications? I will, of course, pay for each pelt put into the cloak, and the same again for the completed thing."

The man's eyes were wide, and he let out a whistle. "That is a high price. Of course, with the pelts to keep warmth, and the magical protections they will offer ... then again, you'll be providing your own materials..."

"I am willing to pay, one way or another. I need it quickly, for I am working on the sly, and will probably have to be here to make sure that my specifications are met."

"Of course, of course ..." the old man muttered, still looking a bit shocked and chewing his lip. Saturniah decided that this was agreement enough. She made her way outside, taking this chance to explore the town more thoroughly. She found it depressing to a large extent, and was thus pleased when her companions finally took it upon themselves to show up. She put herself conveniently in their path as to make less work for herself.

"Oh, Niah, you played a mean joke!" Imoen cried out in greeting. "Eddie thought that you were the leader!"

Saturniah stifled her instinctive response that it was no trick, that she was, but instead kept quiet, and shifted uncomfortably under the group's stares. "Well, you must agree that it is complicated. We are all the leader when it comes to our areas of expertise. Kivan for stealth, and you for charm and guile. Jaheira to keep the group under an objective eye, and Khalid is probably the tactician." He looked pleased about that, she was gratified to note. "When it comes turn, Edwin will lead in manners of magic as he no doubt knows more than I."

"And you, child?" Jaheira said humorlessly. "What are you leader in?"

"Unrest, or something, I don't know." she said, shying away from them. "Trouble magnet? I shall make rash and impulsive decisions as trouble comes screaming for my blood."

"Lovely thoughts. Now, just hold still, I am sure trouble will appreciate it. (The elf must be either dumber or smarter than she appears to do what she did.)" Edwin muttered unhappily.

"You'll get your job done. We'll do it." Saturniah assured him. "Now, quietly, tell which way we go and for what."

"Humph. Very well. Our quarry lies in the southwest, in an old fort taken over by Gnolls. They have captured a woman -- a witch. It is my intention to see her dead. (Hopefully that was simple enough for these bundling simians to understand.)"

The group stared at him for a bit. Just as he started to show that he noticed, they switched their stare to Saturniah. She squeaked.

"You bring a murderer among our ranks?" Jaheira demanded incredulously.

"I didn't know!" she whined defensively.

"Niah, why would you accept him at all?" Imoen said. "He's nasty and mean!"

"Personal bias?" she offered weakly.

"Of course." Edwin sneered superiorly. "None can resist Edwin Odessiron! (Ha! Even though I insult her she finds me irresistible. I am better than I thought.)" Saturniah cut a glance at him. Peacock indeed. She found him amusing, rather like one would a bard.

"S-Saturniah, are you sure this is a wise course?" Khalid asked.

It was him that she found herself unable to cast a weak comment at and leave it at that. "No, but that's never stopped me. He claims to be a mage of some power, and I am curious just how great it is. If he's got enough power, is it not wise to get it at the cost of this witch's life, who may be dead already, or about to be? It's like putting her out of her misery."

"Your logic is strange and alarming, Saturniah." Jaheira said.

"Please, call me Niah if you can bring yourself to it. It saves time." she interrupted quietly. "Indulge me in this bit, would you? If you find Edwin displeasing, and his reward for this task unfit, then you can kill him, okay?"

"That doesn't help." the druid muttered.

"What is this?" Edwin demanded. "I did not agree to this! (Damned crazy elf! Did she forget she finds me irresistible?)"

"Calm down." Saturniah said, looking at him. "I'll see if I can't talk them into letting you get a head start."

"Some good that would do." he muttered unhappily, eyeing Kivan's bow. Said elf favored him with a mild look of displeasure.

It was a short walk from there to find the mayor. Berrun Ghastkill seemed agitated, though it was clear the reason did not lay with them.

"Do not worry, Ghastkill." Jaheira murmured. "We shall look into the mines as soon as possible. It is just that we have other concerns to look into first so that we can have the strongest party possible."

"I do not like this. Other adventurers have not come back yet, and some have not even responded to the call." he said, frowning heavily.

"Either way, it is the course we shall take." Jaheira insisted. It was thus that they found themselves heading off into the wilderness.

With Jaheira and Khalid in control, the way they traveled was much different. Jaheira went first with Khalid and Kivan paired behind her. Imoen came in single behind them, bow out and arrow tucked into fist, but not too excited. Behind them came Saturniah and Edwin. It was both a punishment upon Saturniah and a way to keep the rest of the group away from Edwin.

Saturniah squeaked and shied away from him a bit as he gave her another glare, gripping her lute like a security blanket. He seemed to have formed a grudge against her, and she wish he hadn't, or at least would keep it to himself. She cast nervous looks around, dividing them between her partner and the surrounding forest. She'd hate to get caught off-guard by either, and wished desperately that she could play some tune or chord, but Jaheira had explained to her that it wasn't the best idea to make more noise in the forest than need be.

_He's just a bully! _she told herself fiercely. _Why are you giving into him? He hasn't beat you yet!_

_But he could. He has the manner of one that would. He has those hateful eyes. He has the hateful words!_

Saturniah shuddered violently, reaching about for her Archmagi hood and drawing it low over her face, attempting to both hide and keep from hindering her view, an impossible objective, though one that did keep her sufficiently distracted. They managed to remain mostly unmolested, for which they were all grateful, when they found the keep.

Saturniah was hopping from one foot to the other, chewing on her bottom lip as she stared at the ruins with morbid fascination. She knew that beyond those walls was an army of massive gnolls. She hated them, personally, especially after having spied them passing by the High Henge. She hated the way they looked, and the way they acted. The way they smelled was the worst offense to her, though. One-tracked mind and everything.

"Oh, do quit your dancing!" Edwin snarled, glaring at her. "You are one of the most ridiculous and cowardly elf I have had the misfortune to run across. (Granted, one of the only -- I hardly think that Averial counted...)"

Saturniah pouted at him, and paused her nervous movement long enough to remove her pack and instrument, as they were weighing her down and her ribs were already bruised enough as was. "You're just mad because you're being made to come with us." she said quickly but still quietly. Her teeth dug harder at the tender flesh of her lip.

"This will be fun! Promise!" Imoen bubbled happily.

It had been shortly decided that the two rogues would scout out the fortress under the cloak of night and shadow, and Edwin would join them in case it would be that simple to complete the mission. Jaheira had handed her Invisibility Potion to the wizard, though very reluctantly and demanding retribution from Saturniah. All three had gotten the hasting oil in case they had to make a break for it. Saturniah had been hopping about anxiously since she heard the verdict.

Chance -- chance and murder. There could be death so easily. Her or them? Them or her? Who knows? It had yet to come.

She bit her lip so hard it bled.

--

**,;;, To be Continued ,;;,**


End file.
